Ed stands her dinner -- not at the diner. "I'm sorry."
Winry nods, picking at her salad. Ed plows on, rehearsed and stiff.
"I was out of line. Your shop is your business. But -- if I -- " He stumbles now, off-script, his amber gaze skittering across her face. "If we could -- if you ever need -- or want -- just ask, all right?"
His incoherent sincerity unnerves her; she's not sure why. But Granny didn't raise a coward: she looks him in the eye, holds out her hand. "All right."
Ed shakes it, smearing his automail with dressing for her to wipe away.